Anthony sent five texts in ten minutes to confirm our dinner plans tomorrow night were still on. If it hadn't been a month since the last time I saw him, I might have been irritated, but I couldn't blame him.

A week of staying at Zachariah's house had turned into a few more weeks until three months had gone by. Other than that, there had been a few nights when I'd stayed over at Emmie's house, which was gratifying because it offered us a chance to connect without Zachariah around.

Zachariah and I orbited each other like it was a routine we'd spent our lives perfecting into a gentle art. He'd wake up earlier than me and cook us both breakfast, and once I'd finished eating, I'd rinse off our dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Not to mention the cup of coffee that waited for me as soon as I'd wake up, placed there a couple of minutes before like clockwork. He'd put the dirty clothes from the bathroom into the washer, and I'd take the laundry out of the dryer. Whoever got off work first would pick up groceries written on the to-buy list clipped on the fridge, while the other would grab any items the first inevitably forgot.

At night, I'd tell him he needed to take his bed back because sleeping on the living room couch every night couldn't be good for his back, but every time I'd come out of the shower, he'd already been occupying it. Evidently, his roommates didn't mind, which he probably knew since they were scarce for the most part.

Tonight's menu called for bulgogi he got at Costco the other day, and he somehow convinced me to pick up beer, though we had an extensive argument about how I thought soju would have been the far superior choice. It ended in me calling him a fake Korean and accusing him of letting his haole side take over. He told me I wasn't a real Hawaiian since I didn't like poi. When our bickering came to an impasse, he told me he'd ask his mom for the recipe of those tea cookies I loved and I agreed to pick up the beer as a sign of good faith.

Jem once told me she believed emotions vacated our bodies like particles floating into the air. When any of them landed on someone else, we could feel everything that passed through that person.

It seemed silly until I realized how much lighter my heart felt since staying with Zachariah. Being in that house affected me more than I thought, and it took leaving it for me to recognize that.

As soon as I walked through the front door that evening, I knew something was off. Instead of the stark frost of simmering anger, it was a stifling chill of deliberate isolation. I wasn't sure why I was so nervous walking through the house in search of him, but I felt something prickling along my arms as the suspense built up.

Zachariah sat on the floor of the kitchen with his knees pulled up, his arms resting on top of them and his head tilted back against the cupboard with his eyes closed. He didn't flinch when I stepped inside the room.

"I'm sure there are much more comfortable places to sit than on the floor," I remarked, letting my bag slip gently off my shoulder.

His reply came so quickly, suddenly, that I couldn't form a proper reaction to it right away. He said it like he was ripping off a bandaid.

"We broke up."

There was no surprise laced in his words. The ending was inevitable and everyone that spent time around them knew it, but it didn't stop me from reeling back in shock because sometimes, something we know is coming still catches us off guard.

A strange steadiness placated his voice. Nothing about him was angry for the desolation of an over-year-long relationship. If anything, he sounded exhausted. I couldn't exactly blame him for feeling this way, but I wasn't sure if I liked seeing it.

I kneeled across from him, my foot shaking left to tap against his leg. He finally opened his eyes and looked at me, a faint pink tinge clouding his vision.

"I'm sorry."

He sighed and it fluttered in my chest. "I am too."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A few beats of silence passed between us, accompanied by Zachariah closing his eyes once more. If he wanted me to leave, I wouldn't stop him. But I hoped he wouldn't push me away like I knew he often did to other people. I didn't want this to be one of those times Calum often described when Zachariah would just fall off the face of the planet because dealing with his feelings in front of other people was too much.

"I don't know." His head lolled over. "I guess if there's anyone I'd want to talk to right now, it'd be you."

Part of me expected something more explosive. After all, Emmie was as vibrant as the sun at its highest peak, and Zachariah radiated passion more than most people I knew. But maybe the calmness was too easy. Maybe the stillness of the air around us was more terrifying because I didn't know what to expect once it came to an end. With outbursts, I could track every moment and predict the next. When it came to stealthy emotions that slipped past like a leopard on a pitch-black night, the aftermath was less predictable.

His hand wrapped around my ankle and his thumb rubbed gently at the skin peeking out from under my jeans.

I froze beneath his touch. It happened so easily like out of instinct, and I couldn't ignore the way my heart warmed because of it.

"You should check on her," he said after a moment before nudging my leg back to me.

I didn't need to be told twice.

I managed to pull myself off the floor and tug my phone from my pocket, dialing her number as I walked out of the kitchen and into his room for privacy, closing the door shut behind me.

The dial tone echoed back to me. After a few failed attempts at trying to reach Emmie, I sent a couple of texts to Jem to see if she was aware of what happened.

She replied right away to let me know Emmie was with her in her dorm.

The reaction this pulled from me was unnecessary, I was aware of that, but I was taken aback by the news. Emmie had not only not told me about the breakup herself but had gone to Jem instead.

My first instinct was to grab my keys and drive over there.

The second was to question whether or not I was being hypocritical as I hadn't been the one to call her about that night Zachariah first brought me over to his place. It wasn't the same situation—as Zachariah was there with me, so being the first one to know about what happened wasn't exactly avoidable—but part of me still believed it to be similar enough that I felt guilty about it.

I wasn't sure how long I stood there before the floor creaked behind me, alerting me to his arrival.

"Everything okay?"

My head told me to chase after the friend I'd known my entire life; my heart saw the person in front of me who would be alone if I left.

After a split second of decision-making, I decided to stay.

"This place is a mess," I said.

His clothes were scattered along the floor with dishes piled high on top of dressers and nightstands. I was in no place to judge him since our rooms were nearly identical in the chaos they exuded.

As he waited by the door and watched, I picked up whatever didn't belong and tossed it to where it did. His hamper filled with the dirty laundry that'd been discarded everywhere but in its designated area, and I'd moved the dishes into one spot so it'd be easier to carry them into the kitchen.

Once I was done cleaning the whole room, he walked back inside and sat down on the bed. "You didn't have to do that."

"You wait until I'm done to tell me?" I laughed, feeling a sense of pride when he joined me. "I wanted to. Plus, I kind of took over your room so I'm obligated to clean up."

Zachariah dropped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling with his legs dangling over the edge. "You don't owe me anything. This place is yours for as long as you need it to be."

Crossing the room, I laid down beside him. "It's okay to not feel anything."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to feel."

"I don't think there is a way you're supposed to feel. There's no right or wrong way when you've broken up with someone you've been with for over a year and a half."

I checked my phone one last time to see if any notification had come through from Emmie, but the screen remained blank so I tossed it aside and pulled myself up further, our heads nearly together at this point.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I broke up with my boyfriend at school?"

His head lolled over with curiosity. "You? A high school boyfriend? I don't believe it."

"Oh yeah, I had one for some reason," I laughed. "It was one of those things where I realized we weren't compatible at all. Which, to be fair, we were still children, so I'm not sure how compatible we could be with anyone."

Zachariah shook his head, a hint of a smile peeking out from the corner of his mouth. "You say that like the old you was a bad person."

"I did break up with my boyfriend at school," I pointed out. "He ended up throwing his salad on my head and never speaking to me again."

"I bet it had a shit ton of dressing too," he chuckled.

"Of course." I rolled my eyes. "Do you know how much shampoo I had to use that night? Nearly half the bottle just to get the smell out of my hair. And even after that, Kat teased me enough I thought it stunk the entire week and I just couldn't smell it myself."

This made him laugh harder. At some point, he grabbed the ends of my hair, lifting it to his nose and taking a big whiff. His face scrunched in distaste and pretended to gag. I smacked his arm, sending him into an even bigger fit until the two of us laughed together.

"You always know what to say," he said once we calmed down.

"Just returning the favor." If he hadn't been there that night and I'd stumbled in on my dad by myself, I'm not sure how much I would have repressed those feelings. Opening up his home to me was about the only thing keeping me afloat right now, so if bringing up embarrassing stories about getting salad dumped on me brought a smile to his face, I'd lay my soul bare until he fell asleep wearing it.